Full summary: Harry Potter is a psychic vampire, a vampire that doesn't feed on blood to survive, but human energy. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, is your typical bloodsucking vampire, and Harry's sworn enemy. Hermione is a young woman who desperately wants to become a vampire, no matter the price. What happens when both Harry and Draco fall in love with her and try to turn her? Who will win her love and her soul?
Disclaimer: Don't own the names, just the ideas!
a/n: Little bit of a crack fic and it's nonmagical and completely AU. I don't plan on posting the whole thing until I have at least five chapters written out, or until I finish one of my other stories, so it's just the preview for now. But I would love some feedback, if you would please, and I'll repost as soon as I'm ready.
The bass thrummed in Harry's chest and made his ears ring with pain, but he remained where he was, sitting at a table near the back of the club, pretending to drink a beer. The ear splitting song turned seamlessly into yet another earsplitting song and Harry sighed. Maybe he wouldn't find the perfect one...
He felt a light pressure on his shoulders as two pale, white arms wrapped around his neck and leaned on him heavily. "You're kind of cute," a female voice purred, her breath hot on his ear. "Dance with me?"
Harry smiled and put his cup down on the table in front of him. Maybe the night would turn out in his favour after all.
Draco sat at the empty bar, watching Harry and the girl grind out on the dance floor, his hands roaming freely and without restraint over her slight, but lively body, breathing deeply as his lips caressed her neck with a whisper inaudible to human ears over the pounding rhythm of the music. But Draco could hear him just fine.
"Let's go some where more private," Harry suggested.
The girl nodded tiredly and let Harry lead her off the floor, weaving through the mass of twisting bodies.
Draco swished the red liquid around in his cup, before tossing it back and drinking the last few cold, gritty sips at the bottom. Standing, he reached in his pocket to pull out a £10 note. "Keep the change," he mumbled with a smirk as he tossed the note over the bar, where it landed on the bartender's stiff corpse. Maybe the night would turn out in his favour after all.